


Not in the Same Way

by theMonsta_r3mikz



Category: Sex Education (TV)
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, No beta we die like nem, Otis has a brownout, Rarepair, also drunk sex, brownouts, first fic, idk how to tag, maeve has BILLS to pay, she's BUSY, sorry maeve isnt really in this, tomfoolery, well they're like 16 right?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:07:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25198993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theMonsta_r3mikz/pseuds/theMonsta_r3mikz
Summary: Otis and I stare at one another.  I claw at the sheet beneath me and Otis covers himself with the duvet.“Did we have sex?”“Of course we had sex, Otis”He retches a bit.---Who doesn't love a first person POV from a non-main character?
Relationships: Ruby Matthews/Otis Milburn
Comments: 9
Kudos: 81





	1. Nerdy boys... but it hits different

**Author's Note:**

> AU where drunk Otis is as shit at performing safe sex as he is giving sex advice? (But kinda good at the sex bit?) Also acknowledges the dubiously consensual circumstances under which things happened since Otis can’t remember they slept together? Also, for fleshing out Ruby’s character. Why isn’t she a legit character with a tag on Ao3 or ff.net. Why.

I make out with nerdy boys when I’m sad.

That doesn’t excuse what happens next. 

…

After seeing Sex Kid verbally stone Cock Biter, humiliate his lesbian ex-girlfriend, and let everyone see under his good boy façade, I want him then. I see myself in those moments - not WITH him. Ew. (Not yet.)

I see someone lashing out at people he wants to hold close. I do it because I’m personally going through some shit, and a person in my life is leaving me whether I’m nice or not. For someone that listens to others’ problems and sexual hang ups everyday, how many people can Milburn talk to? Tromboner’s too wrapped up in Rahim, but aren’t we all? After all, he’s the only reason I came to this party. If I can’t tell my mother about the way I’m dealing, Milburn sure as shit can’t tell his sex therapist Mummy about his girlfriend problems. He really shot himself in the foot yelling at Wiley like that, his only other friend. (Acquaintance? Business Partner? Slutty Receptionist? She definitely doesn’t like him anymore after that couch speech.)

He has no one tonight. Like me. Sure, Olivia and I have a spiteful kinship but she already judges me on my dating habits. I could never tell her how steam comes out my ears every morning because I hear Maman yelling at my father in the morning to get up, to make an effort. MS is hard on us all, but physically the most painful for him. He can barely walk now. It’s been a little under a year. Doctors told us about that, but they didn’t warn us about his melancholy coming in right fast and blocking sunlight from entering my home.

I sit with him at breakfast for twenty minutes before school. Most days I cannot decide whether I want to yell at him or Maman more, so I leave for school and terrorize Anwar about his shoes and sexual inexperience instead. I think he and his boyfriend are around here somewhere. 

I’ve been taking shots all night and am trying not to make eye contact with the yonic imagery that decorates the Milburn home. I laugh at the people carrying around the abnormally long and wooden penis, but smother the laughter with a sneer before people catch me. 

Milburn is dancing with a baked chicken, and it looks appetizing to drunk Ruby’s brain. Maybe it’s because Milburn’s kissing it. 

The steps between that, and me dancing with Milburn and replacing the bird from before are hazy because of tequila. Again, not an excuse for things to come.

His hands were parked safely on my hips at 10 and 2 whilst the music made us pulsate nearly out of our skin amidst all the people in his house. I brought the bottle of tequila with me to share, so now his long fingers are journeying across my body, over my breast and lingering.

“Ruby?” His fingers haphazardly brushing my nipples through my sleeveless top are at odds with his bleary, dopey gaze. 

“Hush, Otis.” His other hand gripping my hip squeezes as I attempt to distract him with rolls of my hips. I don’t want him to talk and ruin the rhythm of my seduction routine. 

Nerdy boys are not nice, either, just desperate. I want to be treated like I mean something to someone, and they just want to get off. It's a very stable exchange. Most of the time. 

“Ruby..” I turn to look at him, and our eyes meet full on. We are pressed so close it feels as if his chest against my back pushes air out of my lungs, and his body concaves to accommodate mine when I breathe in. The hand on my breast travels up my neck, and tilts me head so our faces are that much closer together. 

He kisses me. Not how I expected things to start tonight, but I’ll take it. Dad cried at breakfast today. Milburn smells like stale alcohol, but then again so do I. 

I’ve decided I want to forget what happened at breakfast today..

His kisses are uncoordinated, with unchapped lips and sharp snags of teeth against my bottom lip. I turn around fully to wrap my arms around his shoulders to pull him down to me. He really is so tall. He makes a grunt of pleasure (surprise?), stumbles a bit, and brings me against him. His fingers comb through my long glossy hair and hold my face to his. I like that. I forget about the rules of creating a power dynamic before sleeping with nerdy boys (makes them easier to throw out like recycling later), and let Milburn’s burning lips bring me under an entirely different influence. Tequila no longer required. There’s music blaring, but it has nothing to do with the lingering touches and movements of Otis and I.

Otis walks us backwards, and then trips over Connor Pearson (clothed) to land on the couch. I let out a small shriek, and giggle at his clumsiness. Otis has that dopey look on his face again, and I climb more comfortably into his lap. Not that I wasn’t expecting a bulge, but I was pleasantly surprised at the stiffness that met my inner thigh when I put my full weight against him. His face is really red, and he muffles a groan against his shoulder. My hands drag his face to meet mine this time, and time passes without us knowing. 

When Connor Pearson is no longer clothed and is sitting next to us, we decide to go upstairs. I remember to grab the bottle of tequila to get the image of Connor and the educational aid vagina replica out of my mind. 

Otis grips my hip as we climb the stairs. I pass the bottle to him, and try the door to my left. 

“N-nno, not that one, that’s the-“

“AHH!!” Someone’s having a good time; I close the door quickly.

“Bathroom.” His unstable steps lead us to a white door with a glass pane above it.

“I’d have thought this was the bathroom. Your house is topsy turvy, Milburn.” I giggle. I clasp my arms around his waist, and bury my face against him. For balance, of course. His back smells of mint and boy must. The alcohol smell is less strong there.

The door opens. “My humble abode,” he says as he brandishes his arms before bowing like some royal court jester. Such a weirdo. I give him a look, and he returns to his normal meerkat stance.

In some steps, I close the door and we end up in a pile facing one another on the twin bed. The bottle lands right side up somehow on his tiny nightstand.

“Sex Kid’s bed is so small.” I tease. 

“‘S usually meant for one person at a time.” He begins to kiss down my neck, and the words fall away. Clothes must come off, and it’s definitely awkward climbing out of bed to stand upright so he and I can step out of our pants and look at one another. It was more than a little strange, but looking at Otis’ body brings a new wave of heat to my skin. 

His eyes scan down my body, getting wider the lower they go. He gulps audibly. Well, his eyes are always large. 

I reach for him, kneeling on his twin bed to be closer, to bring his attention back to me and not to my vagina. Those comments about my “beef curtains” feel louder when I’m drunk and naked with someone else.

I grip the back of his neck. His hands land on my shoulders and move along my skin, my back. Otis places his knee on the bed, and we are no longer vertical. Our eyes are heavy as we breathe into the small pocket of air between us. I stare at his lips, before bringing my gaze back to his. 

“What big blue Gatorade eyes you have,” I snicker. His face relaxes into a smile, the corners of his eyes dipping down. 

I kiss him this time, wanting him to get a move on and make me forget what’s waiting at home for me. His hair is very soft, and I scrape my nails against his nape. One of his legs intermingles with mine.

His unusually large hand grips the curve of my rib cage, with willowy fingers reaching around to my back. One hand reaches down to squeeze my arse, and I gasp into him. Open-mouthed kisses trail from my mouth to my chin to my jaw, and I arch my back so I can feel more of his body covering mine. 

His lips circle one of my nipples, and his hand leaves my arse to play with my breast. It feels good and all, but we are not progressing quickly enough to the main event. Otis is tall and proportionately sized, and just what I crave tonight. I reach down his chest and belly towards my prize.

“Ruby, wait-”, and my hands stop in their tracks.

Otis stops his kisses as well, and leans up on his arms to see me clearly. Nerdy boys often don’t have enough balls to stop what they're doing when they don’t know what they're doing with me. This is another instance in which Otis is different from the other boys I’ve hooked up with: he’s barmy.

“Otis, I get that you used to want someone that would bite your cock-” 

“Ruby.” 

“and I will admit-”

“Ruby.”

“-to being a hateful bitch, but I am _not_ going to-”

“RUBY YOU LOOK LOVELY!” Typical nerdy boy: he’s in love with me already and I’ve barely touched him. His drunken outburst is sweet, and he says it because he knows how good he has it with me in his bed. I smile, reply with “I know”, and pull him close again.

“Ruby, _your vagina_ i s lovely _._ ” 

My want for him churns and boils into shame. I grit my teeth and turn away from him to eye the bottle of tequila that betrayed me for putting me in this situation. 

“All vaginas are beautiful, and there is no perfect form of-”

“WOW, Sex Kid, ever heard of not mixing business with pleasure? Maybe that’s why people have been giving scathing reviews of your therapy sessions like they’re on Yelp and you're a disease-ridden, rat-infested restaurant!!” I disconnect from him, and sit up facing a poster-covered wall. 

“Ruby, I just meant that I wanted to-”

“Don’t bother, Sex Kid,” I stand and flail trying to find my bra and pants on the floor, “ I must say, this has been a great follow-up session but nothing short of surgery can fix the way people will react to a vagina that is not the PERFECT FORM-”

“Ruby, wait!” Otis grabs my arm as I am halfway to his door in nothing but my crop top, bra, and pants. The heat I feel rushing to my face has nothing to do with the alcohol or him anymore. My eyes burn, and I stand rigidly facing away from him. My legs are cold.

“Ruby,” he sighs as he scrubs his face, “I was trying to ask for consent. To-”

“Consent? For what, to not have to touch me?? My clothes are off, and suddenly we have to have a heart-to-heart about making sure I’m-”

Otis moves to stand naked in front of me, and I am definitely not distracted or feeling ridiculous. I’m not even tearing him to shreds right now, which is what would usually happen. I am that thrown by this turn of events tonight. 

“I wanted to taste you first.” His tone is questioning and one of his eyebrows raises, making him seem inquisitive. I stare at this tall pale boy that is confusing me. I feel disoriented, and it is not just because of the alcohol. Boys don’t ask for that. Ever. 

He looks down my body to where I am standing in just my pants and a shirt, and titters drunkenly. “Nice pants.” 

Damn him for saying something so sexy to me and then ruining the mood by being barmy again. Nothing is going the way it is supposed to. I could be riding some swim team jock right now that wouldn’t have needed as much conversation before letting me take what I need. 

“I know that a woman’s pleasure is not often acknowledged, and is very important for achieving the female orgasm.” He hiccups and stumbles back to the bed, with my hand in his. He’s making things weird again with his words, but I follow him anyway.

“Mother says that after one orgasm, it is easier to have more for women. Increased sensitivity, or something.” He's taking the piss if he thinks this talk is going to make me want to sleep with him. Swim team jock would not have offered to eat me out, though, so I stay put. 

“Otis?”

“Hmm?” His fingers play with my hair again, but he doesn’t kiss me again. 

“Stop talking about your mother when we are in bed together.” That sounds like I would like for this to be a frequent thing. I should definitely let him know that isn’t the case. At least until after the deed is done. It’s Sex Kid. He might know a thing or two - things I’d like to experience on a regular basis. “That’s fucking weird.”

“Right, sorry, shutting up now.” His thumb brushes against my neck as his fingers twist through my hair. I’m sure I look like I’ve been electrocuted, with my hair all frizzy with static and winding around his fingers.

“Well?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. My heart hammers in my chest. I lift my trembling right hand to his chest and lightly scrape my nail against a light brown mole above his nipple. I like the contrast of our skin tones. His pale chest is very warm (and surprisingly firm) beneath my tanned skin.

“‘Well’ what?” He places a stray hair back to the left side of my parted hair where it belongs, and I slap his hands away to fix my hair myself. I’ve got to maintain what dignity I have left, and gain control of the situation. It’s been going off the rails since the beginning.

“Aren’t you going to take my clothes off, _Otis_ ? And _taste me?_ ” I push him down onto the bed, and take his hands and place them above our heads. The hair that hangs in my face brushes against his cheek. I kiss the corner of his mouth delicately, stoking the fire and hoping to inspire a reaction. 

“You sure?”

“Yes, Otis,” and our lips fuse together again.

He makes quick work of my shirt, then tugs down my pants as I deftly remove my bra again. His hands grip my waist and lower back. He tries to flip us, but nearly rolls us off the bed instead. We re-adjust so I am sitting at the end of his bed after numerous apologies. He kneels before me, and leans forward to kiss me again. So tall. The warmth from before is back, thawing me where he presses his hands on my back, my shoulder, my skin. He bites my chin before making his way lower. I sigh without really knowing why. 

Usually, I am more self-conscious about making noise, and only do so when I feel people need hints. Sex is performative. Maybe that’s why people watch porn so much. Sex Kid probably knows all about errogenous zones and such, and that’s why his bites in strange places are so arousing. I feel too hot to think about holding back right now.

His hands run up the outside of my thighs to my hips, pressing thumbs firmly against where my stomach caves in between my hips and then back down to my knees. I lean back on my elbows as he grips behind my knees and parts my thighs. I feel his shoulders against the backs of my thighs and shiver. Hot air puffs against my pubic bone, and I gasp. He pulls away.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, do hurry up.” 

His hands rub against my calves, and I relax further into the mattress. My slouching brings my body closer to his face, and I watch him as he takes me in. His hands come to rest on my stomach, keeping me where I am just far enough from his face that he can see me but also so I can feel his breath on my skin. His tongue darts out, and I feel a tentative lick against my lower lips. Not exactly where I’m wanting his tongue, but I am enjoying myself, so I sigh again. Otis’s eyes flash up to mine, and I put my hand in his hair so he won’t-

“Everything okay?” For fuck’s sake.

I slam my head back against the mattress. “Would you rather I be silent as the dead? Is that what you’re into, Sex Kid??”

“No, no, just, um..”

I lean up on my elbows again to pull his head towards my body by his hair (surprising gently, given how annoying his teasing is) and say, “I’ll let you know, now stop talking- Ohh..” His jumbled words hum against me, and I forget about what we were even talking about. 

My eyes have closed without me knowing but when they open again, his eyes are on mine. He understands that was a good sound because his eyes crinkle around the corners again. 

“Yes, Ruby,” he hums again. 

One of my legs twitches, and he chuckles, which elicits more physical reactions from me. My shivers and squirms are no longer met with apprehension from him. He clumsily mashes his nose into my clit, his lips nibbling my lower ones, and I moan. Loudly.

Otis promised me an orgasm from his mouth (he totally did), and I can’t wait. He rearranges himself so he can sit back slightly, settles the flat of his tongue against me, and licks up towards my clit, parting my folds. A groan is punched out of me and my body falls back to the bed. My right hand joins his on my stomach. Our eyes meet, mine more hooded now than his have been all night. Otis’s focus is renewed on my clit, his tongue increasing in speed. The slurping noises are quickly tuned out as they usher in my approaching orgasm. 

It takes around ten to fifteen minutes of stroking my button to orgasm on my own, and Otis is really striving to get me there in under that amount of time. My hand is still in his hair, again pulling him towards me, hoping he will put more pressure on my clit again. His mouth changes tactics to sucking my clit this time, and I feel his breaths puff out through his nose onto my lower belly.

I throw my head back against his bed again, and groan unashamedly. Fuck it, it’s not like anyone at this party can hear us or wants to interrupt what they’re doing to investigate. Oh! I’m sure I’m grinning wide at his ceiling right now; a cheeky finger dips into me and swirls around before retreating slowly. I wait for the finger to return, but it doesn’t. This teasing from sex kid is becoming aggravating. I look back up as he starts talking again. If looks could kill, he would be frozen to death.

“Sorry, I should have asked first-” his words are fast and tinny. He’s nervous, I know, but it’s really blowing my high. I let him know in the kindest way I can right now.

“Put it back,” I groan plaintively. Ruby Matthews does not beg.

“Alright-”

“Want your fingers, Otis,” I demand. Nothing unclear about that. It’s sweet that he cares so much about my consent, but I am really hoping finally he gets with the program and _gets me off_. 

The finger and the sweet suction of his lips are back, and the moans start up again. The finger is soon accompanied by another, and it seems as if they are searching for something. I know what they’re looking for. I arch my body further towards his face and fingers as they retreat again. His digits brush my g-spot as he flicks his tongue against my clit again, and one of my legs kicks out. He chuckles against me, the jerk. I relax again; I’m done helping him out. He can fend for himself down there.

After that, the thrusts are more shallow and the pads of his fingers focused on scrubbing along my inner walls with purpose. His thumb is used to part my lips as his fingers curl inside me and his tongue moves against me. My moan cuts off into an open-mouthed silent scream. 

Maybe there was a small scream. It doesn’t matter, really. I came. His mouth and fingers are still working me. The slow flat-tongue licks are back, and his fingers keep putting pressure on my g-spot. I’m still cumming. I must have squeezed his left hand really hard, because he stops his ministrations and calls my name.

“Ruby?” He still sounds like he’s worried, like he still didn’t do a good job. Orgasm makes me think this is so cute - I have to appreciate him. It’s only polite.

“Otis, that was…” I sigh and untangle my fingers from his fringe to brush my hair away from my face. I’m sweating so much. He taps the outside of my leg, and I realize I’ve been holding his head hostage. I relax and let him go. I didn’t have the words to describe everything that just happened to me, but he gets it and gives me the dopey face again with it’s little half-smile.

“Feeling alright? Any comments on how service has been this evening? My business runs by word of mouth, you know. I like to think I make a difference in people’s lives. ’S why I do what I do.”

“Is that right? My hero - five stars,” I giggle. “Good bedside manner. Would do again.” Why am I even entertaining this dorky banter?

“As you wish.” What a cheesy line from the Princess Bride. He thinks he’s being so suave. He’s still Sex Kid, still a nerdy boy in that sense. At least dating a lesbian gave him the skills for making a mess of me like this, so I can’t fault him. (So many rainbow shirts and overalls. I mean, really.)

His hands, gentle and so very large, pry my legs apart by gripping the soft flesh of my upper thighs. His eyes light me up like blue fire, with the heat concentrated between my thighs this time.

The night is young.

\----

Sex with Sex Kid hits different. An orgasm or two later (from his mouth and fingers only), and I decide I want a change of pace. 

“Otis.. Mmm. Otis,” I squeeze his left hand and run my right through his hair to get his attention. I’ve been praising his name for some time now. Multiple orgasms make me soppy. Who knew?

“Yes, Ruby?” he pants with his hair mussed, pale face and neck flushed pink from exertion and me. His thin upper lip is hidden by his lower lip, guarding a slightly smug grin. He has a right to be smug. I want to kiss him, so I pull him up to me so our bodies can press together. Our lips meet, and I suck at that top lip. We kiss until I remember my urgency (and his, pressed against my leg).

“Find. a condom. Otis”, I tell him between kisses in the tight space of air we share. Otis leans over me, and roots around his night stand. He recovers a foil packet, which I snatch from his trembling fingers. The clumsiness doesn’t seem to matter when his fingers are inside me, but more dexterity is needed to put a condom on. I am eager to reach for him first, but understand that asking first goes a long way with this one.

“Otis, can I touch you?” My question lingers, because it is important. He hasn’t let me touch him yet. He looks into my eyes intensely, with apprehension. I wait patiently for his response. I don’t make fun of him for this. My earlier freak-out over the “loveliness” of my vagina is fresh in my mind again.

He nods, and I bring my hand between us. I want to make him feel good, and return the favor. His flesh is hot and rigid in my hand, and the thought of him in me makes me blush and spurs my exploration away from the head and towards the base. He gasps, and grasps my arm tightly. He is not so composed in all this, either, even with all his sex knowledge. I work my hand a bit, feeling my way about him. Not sure what I was on about before about him being merely adequate. He is warm and solid in my hand, and long. He has nothing to be ashamed of. I thumb the tip in a swirling motion, wanting to see him sweaty and undone for me like I was for him. 

His eyes are closed tightly - I wish I had noticed that before. Shit. I stop my playing, remove my hands, and place them on his back.

“Otis?” I’m concerned about his reaction. My hand was supposed to make him feel good, not induce a panic attack. Shit. I am not the person to deal with that. 

“Everything’s alright, everything’s fine. Let’s just, wait for a moment.”

“Right.” 

“...” 

Otis’s breaths come quicker and quicker, and I bring my hands to frame his face. His eyes open, and look everywhere but at me. I call his name to get him to focus back on me, and lean up slowly so he has time to pull away if he wants. Our lips brush against one another, three or four times. When we part, his eyes are closed less tightly and he releases a deep breath. 

There is a brief moment where he lays his head on my chest and just breathes. I massage his scalp and play with his wispy hair. This is very intimate for the angry, drunken, hot monkey sex I thought I’d be having with the fire-breathing Sex Kid from the beginning of the night. Like, this is more-than-a-one-night-stand kind of intimacy. 

After I feel this has gone on long enough, I tug at a piece of hair on the back of his head. His eyes open; they’re shiny, but I’m not that much of a bitch so I don’t call him out on it. He leans up and we kiss again, small nips this time. 

“Ready?” he asks. I roll the condom onto him, and his body trembles under my touch.

“Yes.”

Things are not so clear after that. I’m confident it felt good. I remember his body moving above mine, and then mine above his. I remember his mouth on my collarbone and breast... and the back of my neck? I know what his ears, jaw, and the pad of his thumb taste like. What I don’t know is how we ended, when we stopped, or the times in between. (Or why we stopped. Honestly.)

More importantly, I wish I could remember what we did with the condom. 

I blearily lunge for my corduroy jeans and turn off the blaring phone alarm (the first of many). I set so many on the weeknights I go to house parties, for times like this. Otis’ right shoulder covers mine, our bodies pressed together in his XL twin bed. My head feels like a barkeep’s dartboard, and I quietly groan. My gaze sweeps Otis’ form. I see an expanse of pale skin with a sporadic spattering of toffee moles. And a pert bum. I sit up further to get a look at his face. Not that I don’t remember sleeping with Otis Milburn - it’s just good to confirm what I know. I look at him for no other reason.

His expression is soft, face slack and pillowed by an arm. His nose scrunches, and he lets out a whistling snore. I think about running my hand through his hair (soft like feathers, like down, and inky). His other arm is a warm, heavy weight across my body. His display of sloth makes me remember that it is Friday morning, and I did not make it home last night. I hurry to recover all my clothes, and tiptoe to the bathroom I came upon by accident some hours ago. I comb through my hair with my fingers, and find a toothbrush from the box in a basket on the counter. This bathroom is used to overnight guests, I suppose. Sex must not be a taboo subject in this house, for obvious reasons.

My return to Otis’ bedroom is uneventful; he’s still asleep. I try to locate the condom we used in one of the small bins in his room, or in the sheets I woke up in (gross). There isn’t much on the floor but our clothes and shoes. For such a large party (minor by my standards, but even so), his room is relatively untouched by the messy chaos downstairs. I find no condom.

I return to the bathroom, hoping that either I or Otis disposed of the prophylactic properly there. No condom. That’s not good, but I definitely remember we used one. Should we have used more than one? Probably. Should I have found at least one? Definitely. Fuck.

I try to compose myself in the bathroom before returning to poke Otis awake. I’m already dreading the day. 


	2. Not a bit.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The parts we didn't get to see in SE 2x07. Pt. 2.
> 
> A look into Ruby's stressful school day, and an extension of the scene in the woods with Ruby and Otis being some not so wholesome beans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editing this was rough, y'all. 
> 
> I actually had this written out together with the first chapter but I really wanted things to just flow ... and they didn't! HaHa ;,,). It's all good, though, all part of the writing experience. 
> 
> So here it is. The last part of my two-chapter coda-ish thing for SE 2x07. Enjoy.

I am sitting on the bed, fidgeting with my clothes and making sure there is nary a hair out of place. The nervous energy I’ve been having all morning is tamped down as Otis makes a few grunts, and sits up. He doesn’t seem to notice where I’m sat on his bed. When he looks over, his gaze is bleary and unfocused, like he’s not sure what he’s seeing. That simply won’t do.

“Good morning,” I say softly, knowing his head must be pounding right now. Best to start the morning being considerate of each other's respective hangovers.

“EURGH!” He jumps away from the bed, acting for all the world like he wants nothing to do with me. “Why are you in my bed?”

He’s acting so different from last night. Does he really not remember? Just as well, I suppose. This could ruin my reputation at Moordale if he spread it around school - not that I would let it. It definitely doesn’t bother me that he doesn’t remember us sleeping together. Not a bit.

“If you tell anyone about this, I’ll destroy your life.” You can see how unbothered I am by his loud tomfoolery in these early morning hours. 

Otis and I stare at one another. My head and heart are pounding. I claw at the sheet beneath me and Otis covers himself with the duvet. Otis glances down at himself, probably just now realizing he is naked. His eyes are especially large again, and fearful. I hate it when he looks like that. I hate that I have strong opinions about his face right now. I shouldn’t. We are nothing to each other.

“Did we have sex?” he asks carefully, quietly, like each word hurts to get out. I do not feel sympathy for him, I don’t.

“Of course we had sex, Otis.” I answer his question sincerely, with some contempt coloring my words. I guess it is jarring to wake up naked and with someone in your bed. My head aches from the alcohol- and bad-decision-induced hangover.

He retches.

“I’m not here because I enjoy your company.” I shift my eyes away from his briefly as I explain the predicament we’ve found ourselves in. “But I can’t find the condom.” Why didn’t I just sneak out of his house before he woke up? We are sober now; the illusion of Sex Kid being a smooth operator doesn’t work as well in the daylight.

“We had sex without a condom?” His round face is green again and his eyes are wider still. He looks like a frog.

“No, I’m pretty sure we used one,” I rush to add, before he does that huffy fast-breathing stuff from last night. I quickly gather my shoes and feed Otis some bullshit percentage of how sure I am we used a condom. His mother is yelling up the stairs for him. I so don’t want to deal with that. I guess I expected some comfort from Otis, but he is not operating on all cylinders to deal with anything right now. I should go home. 

I descend the stairs and attempt to slip out of his home unnoticed. His mother is in the living room, holding the funky wooden penis from the night before. “I’m Ruby.” I hate these parts, I usually skip this and just sneak out shortly after my alarm. Now I have to make small talk. “I covet your pant suits.” Why am I trying to make a good impression on this woman? Her son was a real twat to me this morning. Like I said before: nerdy boys aren’t nice, either.

“Oh. Thank you. This one’s-”

“I was just being polite. I’ve got to get to school.” I saunter out with as much dignity as I can to my car. My mother is going to yell herself hoarse when I get home. Oh happy day. I look out from the front stoop of Otis’s house, towards the street.

What an obnoxiously steep hill. 

\----   


I try my best to close the front door quietly, and sneak upstairs to my room. I hear Maman puttering around in the kitchen. After a shower, change of clothes, and a quick run through with the hair straightener, I breeze into the kitchen for toast. I kiss Dad's cheek, and his eyes, though pained, seem to have more focus in them today. More hope.

“So how was your night?” Maman asks me.

“It was… fun. Olivia and I had a nice time studying.” Hopefully I haven’t been too bitchy with Olivia these past few days.

“I’m sure.” Her tone is stern. “It’s the middle of the week, you can’t be doing this all the time.” The dark circles under her eyes, apparent against her olive skin, weigh me down more than her words.

Busted. “I know, I’m really sorry, but things have been… hard lately.”

“I know they have been, try not to let it happen in the middle of the week again. Olivia’s mother called, said it became too late for you to drive back.” Olivia covered for me. This means I have to let Olivia know about what happened tonight. I don’t really want to do that, but I also need some advice.

“Yeah, and-”

She glances at the clock hung on the kitchen wall. “You came back really late this morning!” 

“I woke up late! It won’t happen again, I promise.” I turn to my Dad, who is not even paying attention to his heart-healthy breakfast for the day. “I’ll see you later, Dad.” There’s a small twitch of his head to signal my voice has registered, but his gaze stays fixed out the kitchen window. Maman’s yell brings me back to my current task.

“Go, Ruby! You’re going to be late!!” I kiss her cheek goodbye, and bustle out the door.

Now, I have to face the Moordale Secondary Inquisition.

\----

Getting through first period World History is as much a pain as it is a respite from having to face Anwar and Olivia. They decided to take French, and I usually lament that I wasn’t also placed into such an easy-A class with Monsieur Demaury. So hot. Comme c'est tragique. But today, when I want a distraction, Ms. Quinn’s drawl is welcomed.

Ms. Quinn is no slouch. Most of my classmates are boys, and they added into the course in hopes of fulfilling some weird teacher’s pet fantasy with her. She is young, a blond-haired, blue-eyed, and ample-bosomed American, temping since Mr. Badgley went on paternity leave. Her drawl is more of a high-pitched absent-minded chatter, cutting but sweet. Whatever she says may possibly appear on a quiz, but she speaks so fast it’s almost too hard to take notes. She doesn’t seem to enjoy teaching history - I heard she was after Mr. Hendricks’ job. Pitched a fit at Headmaster Groff and everything, he’s kind of terrified of her. Teaching world history was all he could offer her, so she took it. Ms. Sands hates her, not sure why. 

If she were teaching chemistry, the GPA’s of all the men in that class would have gone up. Her leaning over to fix a bunsen burner would ensnare all the male (and some female) attention in the lab towards her. I don’t much see the appeal of her chest or body, but her blue eyes are certainly striking. Her eyes glint glacially in response to smart-ass comments from classmates, something I’ve experienced only second-hand.

I told Anwar that I added in so I could sample the sausage party that is my World History class. But I’m really here because I like history: there are clear causal relationships that illustrate what happened and why. Example: at 9:54am on a weekday, I would normally associate blue eyes with Ms. Quinn, and the color blue with cold. Now? Now, I associate blue eyes with Otis Milburn, long limbs and clumsy fingers with warmth and pleasure, and blue with fiery-hot orgasm… 

Not that I’ve not had an orgasm before. I’ve had them. A couple. Okay, so I gave them to me. I’ve had more orgasms with Otis in one night than I’ve had with Tom over the past months I was sleeping with him. Why do I still think of him like this? Otis was really sweet to me (before this morning), but not a sex savant by any means. He asked me if I was alright a good four times too many, and I preferred when he didn’t say anything and just  _ got _ that I wanted him to fondle me through my shirt. He is clumsy and long-limbed, and talked about his Mum in bed (who fucking does that?). And still I slept with him, woke him gently (I tried, but he insisted on being ornery first so I responded in kind), and tried to talk to him about last night. I left his home spurned and flustered from dealing with his mother, and yet I still think of him. 

Admittedly, Tom Baker, past recipient of my nudes and dungeon master extraordinaire, is the better sex partner. There’s less thinking or feeling involved on my part. But he didn’t care to touch me like Otis did. How Otis played with my hair, how he swung me around and on top of him when he inevitably caused us to fall over multiple times, his chapped lips on mine, his mouth on me, his fingers inside me-

And then Otis acted like I had the plague this morning. I’m utterly flummoxed by him, and it’s almost like he broke things off. Which. That’s unacceptable. Among other things that are unacceptable is the possibility that we didn’t use a condom last night. I clearly remember putting it on him, though. Maybe he threw it somewhere on the first floor of his house? That doesn’t make sense, I don’t think he could travel that far in the state he was in last night. Either way, I have to talk to him again and see if he found something (he better, or I’m fucked). Simultaneously dread and excitement fill me.

The bell rings, and motion starts up around me. I jump and nearly drop the pen I was chewing on before putting my notes (scribbles) away. When I leave the classroom, I am immediately flanked by Anwar and Olivia. We walk a few paces before Anwar can no longer contain himself. 

“What the FUCK, Ruby?! What pathetic little twerp is it this time, then?? The one that made you so late that you couldn’t pick me up today. I had to bike here. So tacky. No, don’t tell me. Just - try a fit wanker next time, they’ll  _ help  _ throw you out of their house so you can pick us up on time.” He walks swiftly down the hall, away from Olivia and I. Typical Anwar. Arsehole.

I continue making steps towards my locker and twist the padlock dial. Olivia leans against the locker next to mine and waits for an explanation, smacking with her bubblegum. I’m not so forthcoming about things like this, because my dating habits are demented and, frankly, quite weird. I could have gone home with that swim jock that asked me out last night, and I end up in bed with Sex Kid? Ghastly.

“You owe me BIG time, Ruby. At some point, your Mum is going to find out that she hasn’t been talking to my Mum, but me with a heavy Indian accent. I don’t know where you got off to last night, I couldn’t find you!!”

“Sweet of you, Olivia. You’re right - I was busy  _ getting off _ playing hide the aubergine last night. Can’t say the same for you, can I? It’s a shame Malek wasn’t invited to the party. Is he still mad you try to suffocate him with his pillows when you come?”

“ _ Malek _ came to pick me up since I couldn’t find you, and Anwar left with his boyfriend.”

“And how did that go down with the parents? His and yours?”

“Don’t change the subject!” 

“Not well, then.” 

“You’re never late to pick us up. He must’ve been good - someone really obscure and irrelevant - but good.” Despite how I treat Olivia, there is this kinship with her that allows me to tell her anything. Of course, judgement is pending, but hers is mild in comparison to Anwar’s. 

“It was… mediocre.” Best I’ve had recently. “He was super clingy.” Not even, I was the clingy one. Is he thinking about me now? “Not too-”

“Ruby.”

“Affectionate.” He verily was, though. 

“Ruby. Who was it.”

“No one to lose your head over. Need some advice, though.” I guess he’s not that embarrassing. His Sex Clinic has some high profile clients - but he still hangs with Cock Biter and Tromboner. Well, Tromboner is dating Rahim, so we have left him alone for the most part. Otis likes Maeve. But that’s canceled. Right?

“Anwar should really be here for this. I’ll message him right now-” 

“Otis Milburn.” I move my books to reach for my secret Squashies candy stash. “Not a word.” This term, we all agreed to stick to a vegan diet. What Anwar doesn’t know allows us these small comforts. He and his boyfriend are getting serious, while me and Olivia have been floundering through the contents of the dating pool at this school. We stress-eat sugary snacks in solidarity without Anwar - he seems to have figured out the love game and has left us to flounder. Again, arsehole. 

“He’s nice. He’s Sex Kid! Didn’t he date that weird hentai girl? He’s kinda fit, but strange. His house is nice, especially for parties, as we’ve learned. The decor is unusual, though. He’s kind of skittish, in a natural and non-drug related way. Unlike Kyle. Better him than Kyle!” Olivia is doing her best to hold back her more scathing comments. “Still not cool at all.” 

“No. But he’s cooler than Malek.” I stuff two of the gummy snacks in my mouth. Today is a cheat day.

“Fuck off. Why do you need advice? Just tell him you’re dating now; dorks like a woman who takes charge or something. You told me that.”

“I told you to take charge, not smother your boyfriend. Yet here we are, that must not have been good advice, then, was it?” I do my best to change the subject from my failings to hers, and inhale three more gummies.

Olivia looks a bit disgusted at me shoveling the gummies in, but takes one or four to snack on. Her softened commentary is appreciated. “He’ll probably follow you around like a puppy dog for a week. A really odd, bug-eyed one. If you ever wanted to absolutely obliterate Maeve Wiley, now is your chance.” 

“He likes Maeve.”

“Are you sure about that? He spit-roasted her last night.”

“Maybe even still. Also, something tells me he wouldn’t just go for a week-long fling.” He baked a whole chicken last night. Even when his party was not going to plan, and he was honestly too hammered to make rational decisions (and so here we are), he always has some semblance of a plan. If there is no plan, and no time for him to spaz out and overthink, something tells me he is not down for a random romance, especially one with me going off of his behavior this morning. He’s not just going to ask how high when I tell him to jump, not like the other losers I’ve (allegedly) dated. He’s not so uncool I wouldn’t mind dating him publicly, though - what am I even thinking? I’m NOT going to date Otis Milburn. 

I avoid eye contact with Olivia as I deliver the damning news: “Also, I couldn’t find the condom this morning. Tried to tell him about it, and he really freaked out.” I grab two more gummies and smack Olivia’s hand away when she goes for more before closing up the bag and placing it back in its spot. I slam the locker door and begin walking towards the library for free period.

“As one would! Well?! Did he find it??” Squashies forgotten, Olivia adjusts her shoulder bag and scurries in her heels to keep up next to me.

“Haven’t talked to him, he was rude this morning. Like waking up to me is a problem.” I flip my hair. 

“You should talk to him - if he hasn’t found it, at least he can tell you what to do now since you didn’t use a condom. He owes you.”

I stop walking. “We did use one! It’s just missing. And he’s in class right now anyway. I’ll find him after school, I don’t want to be seen talking to him. One sex scandal this year is enough for me, thanks.”

I must have huffed and twiddled my hair or something equally silly, because Olivia levels me with a look that says she sees right through me. She shrugs. “Your funeral… or, baby shower? Congratulations.” 

She smiles sweetly before walking off to English class with Ms. Sands. Her t-strap heels clack across the linoleum, leaving me to chew on that sentiment. I start walking again, towards the chemistry labs this time.

I had sex (with him, but it doesn’t necessarily matter), and I have a problem which is sexual in nature. The logical solution is to find Otis Milburn . That’s what this situation calls for. It doesn’t matter if he is involved with the sex problem I have - he can still help me. He will. Like Olivia said, he owes me.

This is going to be so awkward. I should treat this like an emergency clinic session. Except I’m not paying him this time because fuck that. He is a part of this, too, and that can work to my favor. He can’t really be impartial. Like it’s not his sperm possibly swimming inside me-

_ baby shower? Congratulations _

No. This can’t wait until after school.

\----

Fuck it all, damn him. Damn Otis Milburn to hell. He made me sad again by asking about my dad. When I just fucking told him why I make out with nerdy boys. I’m back where I was when this all started - not knowing what the fuck I’m doing. My mouth is back on his again, and we are leant up against a tree. There’s probably some gross fucking moss on my pink jacket. 

He tried to ruin things after we kissed when I slipped off the felled tree branch by talking (apologizing, probably). His arms came around me and we were just standing so close together. I made the first move, and pressed my lips to his. Before he could get to the end of his statement, I told him to shut up and kissed him again. 

Okay, so he had no nefarious plan to manipulate me into kissing him, and I just slipped into his arms after we finished our cans of coke and he offered me a ride back to school. And I kissed him. Maybe it’s not Otis who should be damned but me. Hell was paved with good intentions, they say, and I wanted to feel good again.

It’s a vicious cycle and no one is to blame, really. Except I’ve made out with the same nerdy boy again. Voluntarily. I sought him out and got him to buy me soda and the morning after pill at the chemist in some embarrassing, odd parody of a date. I’ve (secretly) dated people. For weeks, even. But this is different.

This is the second time I’ve faced a scandalous dilemma and he has been there to save my arse. Well, I was about to break one of my heels and roll an ankle slipping off of that branch, and he caught me. That makes a third time he has been there for me. 

_ Ruby! Are you okay? _

At first, I was too busy flailing that I lost my balance, and his arms went around my back. He was leaning in close.

_ You’re alright. You’re fine, really. Just a tumble. _

Fourth time, if you count when I nearly ran out of his house last night with only a shirt and underwear because of my post-traumatic sensitivity surrounding the minge situation. He’s weird, but dependable. 

The kisses started out aggressive, my teeth gnawing at his lips, my leg trying to climb his. He’s not really giving as good as he’s getting, playing the submissive game and following my cues. That suits me fine when I just want to touch someone to feel something, but I think I know what I want now. 

I want him to kiss me back. So I have to be a bit gentler. I have to brush behind his ears with my thumb and suck gently at his lip. So I do. I have to squeeze his shoulder and neck gingerly instead of pulling him down hard to meet me. So I do. My dulcet efforts are rewarded when he pushes into my space, and my gasp lets him in. His tongue doesn’t go too far back (which I’m thankful for, really; Tom Baker was a horror about that), and he traces my teeth with his tongue. Warmth grows from inside me once more. Also, I feel his erection against my leg...

And I pull away because I am not trying to have sex in a wood and we have a history of not practicing safe sex together. He’s wearing this silly close-mouthed smile and his eyes display surprise, and I can’t help but give him one more peck. I brush my fingers through his hair, and one of his hands reaches up to grab my hand, so I press it against his cheek. 

“What was that?” he asks (trying to be nonchalant, and utterly failing). His hand is pulling mine away from his face, and we make efforts to separate.  _ I don’t think I’m in love with you. _

“Something I didn’t expect to happen again, especially sober.”  _ Sure you don’t.  _ “You are terribly affectionate with people you are not in love with. You have a problem.”

He laughs, louder than I’ve ever heard him be.

“The propensity for me to be in love with a person is only slightly higher when my lover possesses eyebrows that are significantly not on fleek. And yours are pretty even, so.”

I’m out of my fucking mind. Him. I really want him.

“Alright, this is over, let’s go.” I slap his shoulder lightly. “Get the bike, c’mon.”

He gathers our trash and belongings, and hands me the helmet. He goes to put those retro glasses back on. On me, the sunglasses look trendy and add sophistication to my ensemble.

He just looks like Luna Lovegood with them on.

“Um, can I ask some more questions about last night? Just, you know, for, for future situations. So I can-”

“Trying to improve your technique?”

“I’d like to know more about my first time. And constructive criticism is good for the soul.”

Ha! This is a perfect opportunity I would usually take to make sure he thinks twice before he can approach me in the halls for a repeat performance, but I actually want to give him hope.

“You’re a tease.”

The bike squeaks as his hands jerk in their task of guiding the bike back to the road.  “What do you mean??”

“Well, obviously I don’t remember everything either! But what I do remember, you were a tease. Also, use your hands more, so the tongue thing isn’t so surprising.”

“WhAT TONGUE thing?!!”

Our version of riding off into the sunset is on his rickety bike down a bumpy road.

I find I don’t mind. Not a bit. Not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone peep the SKAM France and Magicians cameos? No? Well, that was just for me. So.
> 
> I took a minute to get my life together and put this on pause- finishing school, taking exams, starting apps to other schools. Life just gets in the way of stuff. So I'm back. Have some things in the works.
> 
> I think this is it for my first fic. Lmk what you thought. Best xx.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave some kudos and some comments if you feel like it?  
> \- theMonsta_r3mikz


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